


We Haunt Ourselves

by LessonsFromMoths



Category: Just Like Heaven - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, But he is a ghost, Derek isn't actually dead, Florist Derek, Ghost Derek, I don't know this is so self-indulgent, M/M, Stiles is so confused, and superstitious, event planner stiles, hes not friendly, little angst, lots of fluff, not much though, ok maybe a little, this is not casper, wedding planner stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The imposter has been here for a maximum of two hours and Derek already knows too much about him.</p><p>"Dad. Dad. Dad. No. Dad. Please just. Dad." One—his dad is extremely worried about him. Extremely.</p><p>Two— "No, I did not ask you to do that! Dammit!" —he talks to inanimate objects, usually when he accidentally runs into them.</p><p>"Fucking stupid, Stiles, can you get any worse?" Third—he talks in the third person. A lot.  </p><p>Fourth: his name is Stiles. Like what the hell? His house is being inhabited by a living person named Stiles.</p><p>Looks like Derek's finally got something to be angry about.</p><p> </p><p>Or....in which Derek is a ghost and Stiles is living in his duplex.<br/>*i know the tags say major character death, but Derek is already dead so.....just being safe rather than sorry. If you want to know more, message me.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, sorry in advance for any mistakes! 
> 
> Not sure when I can update next, but hopefully soon :)

Derek is dead. Or, at least, he _thinks_ he's dead. He's all transparent-looking, can't be seen or heard, and people seriously _walk right through him._ If he's not a ghost, he doesn't know what he is.

When he thinks back and tries to remember what might have happened to him, his head begins to spin and he keels over with the intense pain of the memories. Jeesh, isn't the afterlife supposed to be his time of rest? Derek supposes it could be worse. He supposes he could be in hell instead of stuck on the earthly plane as a ghost. He doesn't even know how long he's been dead, how he died, who he's left behind...nothing. It's kind of surreal. He's still in his old, shitty duplex, and by the lack of noise next door it seems like it's still uninhabited (due to the fact that the other half of the duplex is pretty much rotting away).

Derek doesn't feel angry, the way ghosts are supposed to feel. He's supposed to have some sort of unfinished business, right? Something that's tying him to this earth? Derek doesn't really feel like there's something he needs to finish. Actually, he doesn't really feel _anything._ He's not frustrated, not sad that he's dead, not happy about it either, and definitely not angry at anyone.

Well, he might be angry at someone if he could remember them, but honestly there's a huge blank in his mind where he knows there are supposed to be some people. It's an odd thing, to miss someone you don't remember, but somehow Derek achieves this.

He remembers this shitty duplex. Remembers waking up in his squeaky bed and making crappy coffee and drinking it while reading the most recent devastating news from his phone. Everything is hazy, even though he still remembers that much, but all he knows for sure and all he really needs to know is that he woke up as a ghost and it's where he's decidedly going to reside (live doesn't seem like the appropriate term for this situation) as a ghost as well.

By the time he's actually familiar with being in this form, he's got a pretty great routine going. Unfade from whatever limbo he's in when he's not there, float around for a little bit, try to grab objects in his home (and fail), attempt to venture through the walls again (okay, he definitely _cannot_ float through walls), and mourn the fact that he can't read his many books anymore.

Derek has decided that the afterlife _sucks._ It's boring and he can't do anything and it's getting increasingly harder to stick around in the plane of reality. His stuff hasn't even been moved out of his house, goddammit, and isn't that the first thing they do after you're dead? He spends a good chunk of time wondering why no one's even _touched_ his house...and then it happens.

"Wow. Looks slightly less shittier on the inside than it does on the outside." A voice reverberates harshly against the slightly dusty walls of the home, reaching Derek in a way that makes his eyes narrow. Who the hell is in his house? And why the hell do they think it's alright to insult it? Derek is the only person who can do that.

"You've already rented it out, dude." Another voice answers, this one more mellow. Honestly, the man sounds kind of high.

"It's really not that bad," the first guy seems to be trying to convince himself. "And I mean, already furnished and shit. I promised Laura I wouldn't trash the place. She said the owner might come back at some point."

"Who's the owner?" The high guy asks, kind of like a secret, and Derek finds himself leaning over the banister at the top of the stairs to listen. 

"She won't tell me, man. Someone in her family. Says they can't take care of the house right now and would like to rent it out, but might be back at any time." There's a pause. "I'm always ready to move right on back out." 

"You need any help, dude?"

"I just have clothes. My dad's all worried but..." The guy keeps talking and Derek uses this as his chance to creep down the stairs and watch the two men converse. The one that's not talking has very dark hair and tanned skin, along with dark eyes and a crooked jaw. His face looks serious, but Derek takes him about as seriously as a baby animal. The other guy—the one that's saying maybe three words a second—has paler skin and a spattering of moles all across his face. His hair is styled up and he has thick, big glasses on that slip down his nose every time he flails his arms about (which is pretty much every other word).

Oh god, it looks like this guy might be staying.

Like, _staying_ staying.

 

The imposter has been here for a maximum of two hours and Derek already knows too much about him.

"Dad. Dad. Dad. No. Dad. Please just. Dad." One—his dad is extremely worried about him. Extremely.

Two— "No, I did _not_ ask you to do that! Dammit!" —he talks to inanimate objects, usually when he accidentally runs into them.

"Fucking stupid, Stiles, can you get any worse?" Third—he talks in the third person. A lot. 

Fourth: his name is Stiles. Like what the hell? His house is being inhabited by a living person named _Stiles._

Looks like Derek's finally got something to be angry about.

 

~~~

 

When Stiles pulls up to the duplex, Scott trailing in his tiny red sonata behind him, he first thing he notices is the main cornerstone. It's a very worn red, not unlike the other bricks surrounding it, but it somehow _glows._ It's actually pretty cool. The rest of the bricks, however, are crap, and they compliment the rest of the outside of the duplex, which is also crap. He gets out of his jeep, checking the address in the text the current owner and his friend—Laura Hale—sent him. Yup. It's right. He sighs and drags his suitcase out from the passenger seat. The duplex is located in a fairly pretty part of Boston, ten minutes outside the city. There are plenty of trees surrounding it, and the road is right on Stiles's front door.

If only there wasn't graffiti decorating the front of his new dwelling.

Scott gets out of his car with a slam of the driver's side door and whistles long and loud. "This place is...nice." Stiles unlocks the front door and lets himself in, waiting for Scott to follow. Honestly, the inside is really nice (especially compared to the outward appearance). It has an almost spotlessly creepy air about it, yet it's crowded with books upon books and has an odd glow in every room. When you first walk in you're assaulted with a tiny hallway that brings you into the living room. When you walk to the back of the living room, you'll find the staircase, and past the staircase is the kitchen. Up the stairs is supposed to be a hallway with four rooms: a guest room and a study on the left, and a master bedroom and bathroom on the right. It's a fairly small place, but Stiles doesn't need much. Plus, the whole thing is super cheap and already furnished.

The rent is temporary, and Laura refuses to tell him why, but Stiles will take what he can get if it means moving out from Scott and Allison's little apartment that used to be his and Scott's bachelor pad. That's a whole new kind of hell.  
"Wow. Looks slightly less shittier on the inside than it does on the outside." Stiles says to get his mind off of the many times he's heard too much through the thin walls of his former home.

"You've already rented it out, dude." Scott answers, shaking his head in disbelief. Stiles scoffs.

"It's really not that bad and I mean, already furnished and shit. I promised Laura I wouldn't trash the place. She said the owner might come back at some point."

"Who's the owner?" Scott leans closer.

"She won't tell me, man. Someone in her family. Says they can't take care of the house right now and would like to rent it out, but might be back at any time." he shrugs and holds up his singular bag. "I'm always ready to move right on back out." 

"You need any help, dude?"

"I just have clothes. My dad's all worried but he doesn't understand that I can be an independent adult as well. I have my own business for god's sake."

Scott looks unimpressed. "A business called 'Cakewalk Occasions.'" He shoots Stiles a look. "Your slogan is 'Planning your events is now easier than pie.'"

Stiles shoves Scott's unimpressed look right back at him. "Well sir, I don't see you starting your own business! Plus, it's funny as hell and people will remember it." Stiles does a double take. "Shit, speaking of Cakewalk, I need to meet with a prospective couple in..." He checks his watch, "30 minutes! Shit Scott, get the hell out! I have to leave!" He hurries his best friend to the door, grabbing his briefcase on the way out.

Scott's amused smile follows Stiles as his friend gets into the car, but Stiles is already running down the street. Another perk about this duplex is that it's only a five minute walk away from his tiny business building. The headquarters of Cakewalk Occasions is in a small pink building wedged between a closed insurance firm and an antique shop. The main floor is actually Cakewalk Bakery, which Stiles partnered up with early this year, and his headquarters are upstairs. The bell tinkles as he walks in.

"Boyd!" He says in greeting as he walks in, and the big man grunts in acknowledgement, focusing on his buttercream icing.

"Stiles." Erica, his blonde bombshell fiancée, answers for him from behind the register. Her voice is like a purring engine. "Isn't there going to be a couple here soon?"

"In...ten minutes." He answers, glancing down at his watch.

"I just love weddings." She steals a glance at Boyd and Stiles can't help but look at the engagement ring on her finger. He wants to know why they haven't gotten hitched yet, but he thinks it might be rude to ask. They've been engaged for six months now...isn't the fiancée stage long over?

"Me too. Gotta go set up, though!" He motions to the upstairs and bolts before Erica can say anything else. They've known each other long enough that Stiles would call her a friend, but she is downright scary even on a good day.

Stiles makes his way over to a cubbyhole-like staircase with a sign over it that tells people that the planning happens upstairs. He climbs them, following the stairs as the close walls open up to a big, light green room. There’s a huge window in the corner, and beside it a huge bookshelf with an endless amount of multicolored binders sits. Stiles has to admit that his calling was probably supposed to be a kindergarten teacher.

He goes over to the bookshelf and peruses it with a hand on his chin, then reaches for one of the binders on the second shelf from the top. Wedding shelf number two. The binder he has is a nice huge yellow one, and he’s just grabbing papers from it when two people appear from the stairs.

“This is cozy,” the woman looks at her fiancée, her hand resting comfortably on his arm.

“Hello there! Kayla and Jacob?” Stiles’s smile is huge and bright, and he sticks his hands out to his sides. They smile back and shake his hand. They’re young and excited, so he knows this will be fun. “I’m Stiles, and I’ll be helping you plan your wedding! I imagine you talked with Lydia on the phone?” He gestures for them each to take a seat at the round table he keeps in the middle of the room.

“Yes, we did. She was very kind…said you would talk us through the process?” Kayla says.

“Yes!” He says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

He grabs papers from the yellow binder and talks them through their wedding: venue, date, time, theme, colors. The wedding is in two months which gives them virtually no time to prepare. They sign papers that give him full reign of the event, and also guarantee half of their deposit back if anything goes horribly wrong. Stiles assures them that that hasn’t happened yet, but they need a safety net just in case. Once he has the background information written down, he grabs another binder—this one blue. “Now we need to discuss flowers, cakes, and catering options.” He opens it and sits back down across from the couple, flipping through the laminated pages. “My usual florist hasn’t been answering my phone calls and his shop has been closed for weeks, but I have a pretty good backup, and I’ll schedule you an appointment with them. They’re across town, but very good at what they do. We can also schedule an appointment with Cakewalk Bakery, unless you have another bakery in mind?” The two shake their heads. “Great. Then we’ll also make an appointment with the DJs, I have a few contacts who can make the sound and lighting for your wedding fit perfectly to what you tell them.” As Stiles continues to make arrangements, he rips off bright pink sticky notes and scribbles addresses, business names, dates, and times and rips them off to stick right in front of the couple. They look a bit overwhelmed, but Stiles is more than used to that. “We’ll also make you an appointment to meet with the catering company I usually go with, they’re very reliable and their food is great.”

“I’ll make sure that the businesses are made aware of the times we’ve chosen, and if anything changes I’ll contact you. Did you want to meet with Cakewalk Bakery while you’re already here or during your schedules time?”

The couple look at each other. “We’ll come back. I’m getting fit for my dress today, and Jacob and my sister are in charge of the cake.”

“Perfect. Do you two have any questions?” Stiles asks, closing the binders up and capping his pen. They share a glance again and shake their heads, looking a little steamrolled. “Perfect!” He says again, this time standing. “Let me show you out then.” He hands Kayla a business card. “Text or call me anytime, I’m always at your fingertips. Don’t forget your appointments, and don’t stress.” He rubs her back. “We’re all here to make it easier. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but,” he leans into the couple, “it’ll be a cakewalk. I promise.”

As expected, the couple chuckles, and Stiles waves them out. He can hear Erica trying to sell them cookies as they leave, and he smiles and shakes his head as he puts the binders away. He sighs and looks sadly at his cell phone. Time to call his contacts. 

 

~~~

 

If Derek thought his new housemate was bad before, he’s almost unbearable now. The kid--well, man--is constantly talking, whether it’s on his phone or to himself, and his voice is constantly fluctuating up and down in odd lilts and cracks. It’s extremely annoying, and frankly distracting. 

Actually, he's watching the kid now. 

“What do you mean you can't do September 3rd? You're open every day of the week!” Stiles holds his stance, one arm propping him up against a dining chair as he stands in the kitchen. His head cocks as he listens to the response. “No. Isaac, I don't care if it’s the goddamn live reenactment of the Civil War. I need you to be available on September 3rd. Capische?” The boy pauses. “Thank you,” he finally sighs, then hangs up. 

Derek steps into the kitchen as Stiles begins to make a cup of coffee, seemingly unaware that it’s nearly 11pm already. He rolls his eyes and leans against the counter that Stiles is making his coffee on and begins toying with one of the cups nearby, watching his hand nonchalantly pass right through it...until it doesn’t. 

“Whoa!” Stiles startles as the mug crashes to the floor, jumping back a few feet. He curiously looks at it, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He looks up at where Derek is leaning, and for a moment Derek is positive Stiles is looking right into his eyes, but the moment is gone just as fast as it comes and Stiles is quickly placing the coffee pot under the maker and stepping away from the counter, mumbling about a broom. 

When he finally gets back with one, he gets on his knees and begins sweeping the ceramic mess into the dustpan. “Shit shit shit,” he mumbles, rubbing his hand across the floor. “The mug left a mark, dammit Laura’s gonna kill me.” Derek puzzles over the boy's words. Laura. The name sounds familiar, but he has no clue who she is and why his brain is so desperately scrabbling for a memory of this woman. Did she really mean that much to him? 

His mind is also racing because _he just touched something._ This something was in the real earthly plane, something that, unlike him, actually _existed._ He silently wonders why he was able to touch something he couldn't before, and why now. Derek quickly realizes, though, that now is not the time for rethinking his entire unearthly existence, and he averts his attention back to the boy wiping at the floor and muttering incoherently. 

Derek wants to tell the fretting kid not to worry, that he doesn’t mind--his hardwood doesn't mean that much to him--but then he realizes that this isn't his house anymore. It's this Laura person’s. And who knows, maybe she has a thing for hardwood. _She has a hard-on for hardwood_ pops into Derek’s head, and he laughs. 

Stiles’s head whips up fast enough that it looks like he may have whiplash, and Derek jumps back. The boy still isn't looking at him, but Stiles definitely heard him. He's visibly quivering a little, finally silent for once in his life, and Derek smiles deviously. If he plays his cards right, Derek might not have a housemate anymore. 

This is going to be so much fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seance is held

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I love this chapter! Thanks for all of your patience, along with the bookmarks, kudos, and reads! Your comments are making me smile hardcore, so a super special thank you for all of those! A lot of Derek POV this time around...Enjoy the chapter!

The late night coffee does nothing but make Stiles more sleepy (which is honestly really counterproductive and Stiles is still bitter about it), so he doesn't even bother cleaning up his work mess on the dining room table as he grabs his one bag and trudges up the stairs. He pauses in front of the guest room, weighing his options, but ultimately continues walking until he makes it to the end of the small hallway where he master bedroom is. He gently pushes the door open and lets out a delighted breath. It's not huge, but it's home. The walls are a soft chocolate and the bedspread is extremely soft. A very old, antique-looking rocking chair sits in one corner while a a connected bathroom doorway sets right next to another. There's a small walk-in closet with boxes full of (upon further inspection) clothes on the floor, an old oak chest at the foot of the bed—locked, he checked—and a shaggy rug in the middle of it all that Stiles just wants to sleep on. 

He shuffles into the bathroom—which is dimly but beautifully lit—and brushes his teeth before crawling into the bed. It's insanely soft, and he sighs contentedly into the fresh-smelling pillows. Even though he's exhausted, Stiles finds enough energy in him to stare wide-eyed at the door with the covers pulled all the way up to his neck. He knows that this is an old duplex, but there's no one in the other half of the memory building and no explanation for that odd, masculine laugh he had heard a mere thirty minutes ago. He feels the hairs on his neck prickle and he wonders if something is in the room with him, watching, waiting for just the right time to come out of the shadows with a knife and slit his throat open with precision and vengeance. 

Excuse you, but Stiles's overactive imagination is one of his best qualities, thank-you-very-much. 

And also, someone just knocked on his bedroom door, and he's one hundred percent sure he lives alone. It takes all of his self-controls to not stand up and open up his bedroom door, because he knows in horror movies the curious person is the person he's always screaming at. _Don't open the damn door, you idiot, he's going to get you!_

Stiles pulls the covers over his head and violently wishes the thing outside his door will go away, and in the process drifts into a restless sleep. 

 

~~~

 

This is just too easy. Derek knocks on the kid's—no wait, _his_ —bedroom door at exactly midnight, and is incredibly excited to see that his fist doesn't go through the door. He can hear Stiles startle on the other side, and he holds in his chuckle. He knows the kid can't be stupid enough to open the door, so he takes the time to grab a coffee mug identical to the one he broke earlier and drags it—painstakingly slow and one stair at a time—up to the bedroom. It takes all the way up until the boy's alarm for him to position it perfectly outside the door at 7am. 

It's totally worth the otherworldly exhaustion when Stiles chokes and sputters on air for a good minute as he stares wildly at the cup. As expected, he rushes down the stairs to check the trash can where he swept up all the ceramic shards into the other night, but Derek anticipated that an hour ago. The shards are actually in the backyard, but it's not like Stiles would look there at all, plus he's too busy freaking out about the cup to think very rationally. 

When the man leaves for work—it looks like he might be a kindergarten teacher or something along those lines—Derek has a moment to connive. Even though he's exhausted, he feels renewed, and he thinks he remembers this feeling as...purpose. Unlike before, he has a reason to continue to drift back from the Nothingness. 

Derek's ready. He finally knows what he has to do, what his purpose is. He's got to scare the hell out of this kid and get him out of Derek's house. He's already got so many plans, plans of absolute horror and gore and.......

 

........Derek fades back in, frustrated. Where the hell does he go when he's gone? The Nothingness always taunts him in the back of his ghostly mind, and it's the Nothingness that he feels is everything he was and will be. Leaving it is like being reborn, and going back into it is like...

_dying_

a voice in the back of his mind whispers, but he shakes his head. He's already dead, he can't die again. He sure as hell hopes that dying isn't like the Nothingness. 

A door slams, and Derek whips his head to see Stiles trudging back into the house, weighed down by paper shopping bags. He props the front door open with a kitchen chair—that chair is expensive, and Derek vaguely remembers a woman saying _"C'mon, Der-Bear, you're never going to get so much use out of it that it's worth spending that much,"_ —and goes back out to his car, an ugly blue jeep, for more. After probably his fifth trip he closes all the doors behind him and wanders into the kitchen, unpacking food into Derek's cabinets and refrigerator, rearranging the cupboards and pantry to fit his needs. He throws out an obviously expired box of Chicken N a Biscuit, humming to himself, and Derek thinks that now is as good a time as any. 

Now Derek has lived. He's seen all those horror movies with insane poltergeists and crazy demons and haunted houses, and he'd like to think that he knows the tricks. So Stiles likes music? Derek makes his way over to the living room, where his old stereo sits on a side table under an old painting that someone from his past made for him,— _"God, Derek, you can at least pretend to like it?" But of course he liked it it was a wonderful piece_ —the CD that was last playing still in it. 

The CD is Agents of Fortune by Blue Oyster Cult— _"Your music taste is absolute_ shit, _Derek! How do you live with yourself?"_ —and Derek knows enough about it to flip to song number three immediately once he turns on the stereo. Somehow, this is much easier than lifting the coffee mug, and Derek wonders if it's because of the electrical component of this versus the physical aspect of the mug. He turns the dial all the way up, which uses a lot of effort and concentration, but it's worth it to watch Stiles jump about a mile into the air. 

He comes bolting into the living room, raising a bunch of bananas like a weapon out in front of him. His eyes wildly scan the room as the opening guitar riffs for "Don't Fear the Reaper" reverberate throughout the room and the rest of the house, and Stiles takes cautious steps to the stereo. He turns it down, then off. "Blue Oyster Cult? Seriously?" He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. Derek rolls his eyes and presses the on button again. Stiles immediately jabs it off, lip quivering. He reaches down and unplugs the stereo "There," then begins to walk out of the room. 

At first Derek thinks that this is the end of his fun, but when he places a hand to the stereo he realizes he can still feel the electricity. The stereo turns on again. Stiles whips back around, and the look on his face is so humorous Derek can't help but let out a few barks of laughter. Stiles turns his head so slightly, but Derek swears at the boy looks right at him as he laughs. His face is white as a sheet—whiter than normal—and he takes careful steps back to the stereo. "Please just turn off," he whispers, and presses the power button. It turns off. He visibly sags in relief. Derek touches it one more time and this time the CD skips the guitar riff altogether. 

_All our times have come. Here but now they're gone._

Stiles, now looking like he's about to pass out, abruptly turns around and walks into the kitchen. Derek follows, but not before turning the stereo up, just to mess with the kid a little more. He watches as the boy picks up his cell phone and dials. "Yeah, Lydia? I need your help, and you're the only one who will laugh at me and then get over it." 

_Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity._

He swallows and rubs his arm absentmindedly. "Promise you'll come?" He closes his eyes and presses his lips together tightly. "I think I have a ghost." 

_We'll be able to fly, don't fear the Reaper..._

 

~~~~~~

 

Stiles still hasn't managed to get the stereo to shut off and stop playing that god-awful premonition of a song by the time Lydia shows up and settles into his house. Because she's awesome she manages to get there in twenty minutes with candles, printed out instructions, a video recorder, and Allison. "I know you said just me," she starts, "but a seance is only a seance when there's three or more people. We have to do this right, Stiles." 

Lydia must harbor some kind of paranormal supremacy that even Stiles didn't know about, because before he knows it she has a red tablecloth spread across his circular dining room table and four candles arranged in a circle around it. She also fills up a crystal glass (that really looks more like a flute) with water and sets it down in front of Stiles's seat. "What's this for?" He asks, pressing his fingers lightly to the glass. 

"Confirming that we've made contact." Lydia says. Then she looks at them both with a huff. "Okay. I think we're ready." She dims the lights in the kitchen and looks at them both seriously. "This won't work if either of you are a non-believer." 

They nod seriously. "I saw the stereo. I tried to turn it off. Believe me, I believe." Allison states. 

Lydia nods. "Good." She looks down at the print-out seance instructions. She walks over to the video camera, setting it up on his kitchen counter so that it overlooks them and everything around them. The blinking red light turns on. "Everyone take your seat." After they do, she lights all the candles and Stiles shivers, because suddenly it's so real. Lydia takes out a piece of paper and sets it on the table. It has the entire alphabet on it and the words yes and no. She sets a stone on the paper. "Join hands." She says, and the three of them hold tightly to each other. Stiles is sweating like crazy. 

"We gather here to call upon the spirits of this home. This safe gathering requests your presence, oh ghostly ones, and would like to speak with you. Please feel welcome into our circle, and join when you are ready." Lydia waits for a long moment, eyes closed and head down, before speaking again. "Spirit, move the water in the glass if you are with us." The three look at the glass, but nothing happens. "Spirit, turn off the stereo if you are with us." They listen, but once again are disappointed. Lydia screws her face up in concentration. _"Spirit, jiggle the water in the glass if you are with us,"_ she commands harshly. They wait, and after a minute the glass of water begins to ripple without the table moving at all. 

"Oh my god," Allison gasps. 

Lydia smothers a smirk. "Welcome, spirit. Now, I don't want to keep calling you spirit, so how about a name? You can use the rock and the piece of paper to spell it out. Do that now." 

The three wait, and sure enough the rock moves. It drags along the paper as if being dragged through mud, and it stops abruptly on the letter D. They wait for a few minutes, but it doesn't move after that. "Okay D," Lydia says, "are you the one who has been messing with Stiles? You can either move the rock to yes or no or you can jiggle the water glass for yes, pick up the rock for no." 

The rock slowly gets lifted, then dragged to the bold **yes** at the bottom of the page. Lydia frowns. "Why? Are you angry with him?" The rock is picked up, moved away, and then planted on **yes** again. Stiles's stomach absolutely drops and he wants to throw up the Kung pao chicken he bought two hours ago from the deli mart connected to the grocery. "Tell me why. With your voice." The three of them wait in silence, "Don't Fear the Reaper" floating over them. It's surprisingly appropriate. "Good," Lydia says, though they heard nothing. She looks over the table. "Is there anything you'd like to ask, Stiles?" 

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He shivers again as a chill runs up his spine. "I uh, I guess I just want to ask why you're here, D. Why you haven't moved on. Isn't that what dead people are supposed to do?" It's only quiet for a moment before the glass of water gets tipped over, ruining the alphabet paper and wetting Stiles and Allison's pants. 

"This concludes our seance," Lydia says with conviction. "Spirit, we ask that you depart our circle with no harsh feelings. Thank you for speaking with us today, and making willful contact. We ask now that the bond between the living and spiritual worlds be broken peacefully." She blows out the candles and the three unclasp their hands. She doesn't even look at either of them before rushing over and turning on the lights, then turning off the video recorder. She brings it over to their table. 

"Electronic devices such as recorders can pick up things that we ourselves cannot perceive." She grins. "Let's see what our little ghost had to say for himself." 

 

~~~

 

Derek laughs when he realizes that they're setting up for a seance. How ridiculous is this Stiles guy and his friends that they think that they can contact him through a paranormal ritual? If they want answers, they can just ask. Hell, he wants answers too. 

They sit down and clasp hands, and Derek is about to laugh again at their serious expressions when he feels it. He feels the power they're emanating. The gorgeous woman who's acting as their medium speaks, her lips moving delicately around each word. She's saying them with conviction, but to Derek's ears they sound like a prayer. 

When she commands him to move the water in the glass, he feels a sudden urge to but somehow stops himself. She then commands him to turn off the stereo, but no, he worked too hard on that to stop now, and then suddenly a kind of power enters her voice and he finds his hand moving forward to move the glass. The medium—Lydia, he thinks—looks smug as she continues to order him around, asking him his name. He finds himself taking ahold of the rock, her voice giving him more power than he's ever felt before, and maybe it's also coming from the joined hands of the members in the circle. 

He doesn't really have the patience to spell out his entire name, so he holds the rock over the D before letting it drop. She then asks if he's the one who's been messing with Stiles, and _hell yeah_ that was him! Then she asks if Derek is angry with the boy. Derek picks up the rock, renewed with energy, and places it back on **yes**. Stiles visibly changes, his eyes widening and his face paling, and honestly Derek should feel worse than he actually does. 

Then the stand-in medium commands him to tell them why, and he rolls his eyes. "Because this is _my_ house! This is private property, and he's trespassing." 

Thirty more seconds pass before Lydia says "Good." She turns and asks Stiles is he has anything to add to this extremely boring and suddenly draining interrogation. Derek always suspected that seances and ouija boards were fake cop outs made by mediums and hacks, but now that he knows how real they are he realizes that they're _torture_ for ghosts. Stiles seems to be struggling with something to say, and Derek places a hand on the boy's shoulder just to get a kick out of watching the chill run up his spine. 

"I uh, I guess I just want to ask why you're here, D. Why you haven't moved on. Isn't that what dead people are supposed to do?" Stiles asks, and Derek startles. He can finally let himself get angry. 

"You don't think I don't want to move on!? Of course I do! I'm stuck in my shitty past during my afterlife, I can't even escape how much my life sucked when I was alive!" As Derek yells this he finds that it's true, and he storms right in front of Stiles. "Of course I was supposed to move on! Stop asking stupid questions!" He swipes his arm angrily across the table, causing the glass of water to go spilling everywhere. 

"This concludes our seance," Lydia says quickly, and as she blows the candles out Derek can feel himself drifting away. 

 

~~~

 

Stiles sits in between Lydia and Allison, hunched over the video camera's small screen. They watch as the glass moves and the rock lifts, all odd happenings. When Lydia asks D why he's angry with Stiles, and unknown man's voice comes cracklings to the room like it's going through a radio: _"...cause...my...! Private...trespassing!"_ He does sound angry, and it scares the shit out of Stiles, even if he can't fully interpret what the ghost is saying. 

The really weird stuff, though, begins when little camera Lydia turns to Stiles and says "Is there anything you'd like to ask, Stiles?" His pause is obvious, but for a moment—a few seconds at most—a white, transparent-looking hand can be seen resting on his shoulder. Both Lydia and Allison look at him, his face white as a sheet. "It touched me," he says. 

"Look," Allison points back at the camera. Little electronic Stiles just finished asking his question, and it's like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, an entire figure can be seen standing in the middle of Allison and Stiles, _yelling. "...think I don't want to move on?!"_ It screams. The figure flickers out sometimes, but it's obviously aiming its words at Stiles. _"Stuck...shitty past life....escape...was alive!"_ It storms right in front of Stiles, threatening in its invisible movements. The next words all come in without any interference. _"Of course I was supposed to move on! Stop asking stupid questions!"_

The figure rears back and swipes its arm across the table, causing the water to spill everywhere. Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his still wet pants, more than a little freaked out. 

When he finally talks again, his voice is shaky. "Shit, I think that was pretty counterproductive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me as much feedback as you deem necessary, I'd love to hear from each and every one of you! I don't know when I can update next, but I already have lots of ideas for the next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your endless support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get familiar wow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly the only reason my chapter aren't named is because I don't want to give too much away I always give away spoilers in chapter names lol. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience, hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> NOT BETA'D SORRY OMG

When Stiles walks into Cakewalk Tuesday morning, cell phone held to his ear, he’s surprised to find that Boyd and Erica have company. “Stiles!” Laura Hale says, looking as surprised as he feels. Stiles smiles and waves, holding up a finger in the universal _give-me-a-moment_ gesture while pointing to his phone. 

“Yes. The appointment would be for September 5th. No, I don’t. Please, just send me the damn plans. Fax is fine.” Stiles shakes his head as he hangs up, then embraces Laura. “How are you?” 

“I’m good.” Her smile isn’t as bright as normal. “How is the duplex?” 

“Good,” Stiles says. “Definitely interesting.”

Laura raises an eyebrow, but before she can ask someone else is barging in on the conversation. “And who are you?” She asks. This girl looks almost just like Laura with her thick brown hair and dark eyes, not to mention a confident demeanor, but her eyes are definitely bigger and her features are younger. She looks about Stiles’s age, honestly. 

“I’m Stiles Stilinski, event planner extraordinaire.” He holds out his hand and she shakes it, looking interested. 

“Cora.” She glances at Laura. “So this is Stiles.”

“You’ve heard of me?” He asks.

“You’re the one staying in the duplex.” She states. “Hope you like it.”

“I uh, yeah,” he answers uneasily, hating the way the two sisters are staring at him like they can see into his soul. 

Laura looks at him for a moment longer before jolting back to life. “Well! It was great to see you, Stiles, but Cora and I have got to get going.” She looks at Boyd and Erica pointedly. “We’ll see you two later?” 

“Of course.” Erica says. 

“Alright then. Bye, everyone!” And with one more wink and smile the sisters are gone.

“They’re scary,” Stiles decides.

“Not gonna argue that.” Boyd replies.

“Hey! That’s my Maid of Honor you’re talking about!” Erica says playfully, chucking a rolled up piece of fondant at her fiancee. Boyd rolls his eyes and pops the ball into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue and grinning. 

“Yeah, so I’ve been meaning to ask you guys when the wedding is. I still have a whole binder made up for you upstairs.” Stiles mentions. 

Erica and Boyd share a look. “Well, it was supposed to be at the end of this month,” Erica shares.

“Why isn’t it?” 

Boyd folds his hands together while Erica plays with the wrapper of a cupcake. “We’re kind of waiting to see if my best man will recover,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles’s brow furrows.

“You mean you don’t know?” Erica asks. Stiles shakes his head, puzzled. “Boyd’s best man is Laura and Cora’s brother.” Stiles raises his eyebrows, still not seeing the point. “You know,” she continues, “the brother whose place you’re currently staying in?” 

Stiles’s eyebrows climb up further on his forehead. _“What?”_

“You don't know?” Erica asks, looking at Boyd. 

Boyd shifts. “About a month ago Derek was in a car accident. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and hit him dead-on. He’s been in a coma ever since, but hasn’t really been showing any signs of recovery.”

“Derek?” Stiles frowns. “That’s his name?” 

“Yeah. We’ve been waiting to see if he’ll wake up. We’re postponing the wedding until then, or until after October.” He pauses. “Whichever comes first.” 

“Wow,” Stiles breathes. “So that’s why his duplex is for ren, and why it’s monthly payments instead of a longer lease.” The couple nods. “So before, did Derek ever mention anything about weird things happening in his place? Electrical outages or anything?” 

Erica frowns and shakes her head “No, said it was shitty, but he loved it. It was his home. Why?” 

“No reason,” Stiles says faintly. He makes up an excuse about leaving the bathroom sink running and heads back to the duplex, because now he thinks he might have a clue who D is. 

 

~~~

 

“Derek?” Is the first thing he hears when he fades back in from the Nothingness, and for a moment Derek feels…

_alive_

Something inside of him whispers, but that’s not really it, he feels more...awakened. But why is Stiles saying his name?

“Derek, are you here?” Derek makes his way into the kitchen, where Stiles is standing and shifting from one foot to the other uneasily. He’s looking all around the room anxiously. “God I feel like a fucking idiot.” He says to himself. “Here,” he says louder, pointing to the clear glass full of water he set on the table. “Move the water glass if you’re here.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, but _god the afterlife is boring,_ so he steps closer to the table and humors the boy standing in front of him. Reaching one hand out, he moves the water cup about an inch, and Stiles jumps thrice that high into the air, arms pinwheeling about so he can catch himself. Derek involuntarily lets out a snort, one that Stiles _definitely_ hears. The boy scowls. “Hey. Not fair making fun of the Stiles.” Then he suddenly seems to realize what he’s doing. “Oh my god. I’m talking to a ghost. Well, a kind-of ghost. Holy shit, you’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says, but Stiles seems to forget that they can’t really hear each other except for when he laughs (which is a weird occurrence). 

“Jiggle the glass for yes. Pick up, uh…” The boy rifles around in his pocket and takes out a dime. “Pick this up for no.” Derek reaches out and jiggles the glass. “Wow. That’s so awesome dude.” Then his features fall into a frown. “I understand why you want me out, man, but you can’t have your place back until you wake up. I think Laura and Cora are pretty upset.” 

Derek frowns. He recognizes the names, but he can’t place them, and he can’t tell Stiles as much. Also, wake up? Derek’s not only frustrated with himself, but also with the whole situation and the fact that _Stiles_ somehow knows more than _he_ does. Derek rears back his hand and swipes it across the table once again, sending the glass of water flying across the room. It crashes and shatters against the ceramic floor. “Shit! Derek, you still here?” Stiles asks, looking frustrated as well. Derek shakes his head angrily, stomping out of the room. As he leaves, he begins to fade again.

Dammit.

 

~~~

 

Stiles is hesitant in every move he makes the rest of the night, careful not to bang the cabinet doors too loud or drop anything, and he even avoids flushing the toilet. He's walking on eggshells and hoping that Derek doesn't get too angry. He had called Scott a few hours later and learned (from Scott and Allison’s combined knowledge) that Derek has a short temper, is gruff and short with everyone, and his last girlfriend ended up in jail (he has also been arrested. Twice, for suspected murder. Of two different people!). 

“He's not a very safe-sounding guy, Stiles. Why do you want to know so much about him anyway?” Scott asks. 

“I just met his sisters, wanted to know what all the hype about him was.” Stiles squints at his phone as if it betrayed him. “How do you know so much about him?” 

“Ah. Well, that's a good question. A good question I will...let Allison answer!” Scott says quickly, and there's scuffling that signals the two of them trying to fight for who _doesn't_ get the phone. 

“Oh. Heeeeey Stiles!” Allison’s voice comes on over the speaker, and Stiles can tell she's glaring at Scott with murder eyes. 

“Hello Allison. Answer my question please.” 

“You got the information, right? Ian trust what you called us for?” Allison asks, voice edging high. 

“Allison,” Stiles presses. 

She clears her throat. “Well, remember Isaac Lahey, from high school?” 

Stiles frowns. It's been a long time since he'd had to think about high school. Five years, to be exact. “Isaac, as in beaten-by-his-dad-but-is-now-my-tech-dude-connection Isaac?” He vaguely remembers back during his junior year his dad being called down to the Lahey household one night for a domestic disturbance and then not getting home until three in the morning because of a small custody spat at the police station. 

“Yeah, well Isaac was actually taken in under the Hale’s wings, and he pretty much became their brother. He told us all of this.” 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles leans against his counter, smirking. “And when did you guys start hanging out with Isaac?” 

“Oh well, you know,” Allison says, flustered, “Scott and I became friends with him and we all hang out sometimes, get drinks, uh...the usual friend...ly…..uh, stuff.” She scrambles for her words. 

“Put me on speaker.” He says. 

“Already there.” 

“ _YOU GUYS ARE HAVING A THREE-WAY WITH ISAAC LAHEY!?”_ He yells into the phone, and immediately Scott and Allison are spewing words and excuses. 

“We were going to tell you—”

“It's fairly new, not like we kept it long—” 

“Seriously not a big deal—” 

“Not like it's more than sex!” 

They both quiet down at the sound of Stiles’s silence. “Stiles…?” Scott asks tentatively. 

“Oh my god.” Stiles says. “Oh my god.” 

“Stiles—” Allison begins. 

“Oh my god! _Oh my god I'm going to be able to plan my first polyamorous wedding!”_ Stiles squeaks into the phone, doing a little happy dance. 

“You...what? You're not mad?” Scott says. 

“Oh, I'm mad. Mad I wasn't told about this little arrangement earlier. Also, don't think I'm not mad about not being invited into the ScottandAllison lovefest. I’m hurt you didn't even ask me to be in a three-way. I didn't know you two were that kinky!” 

“We didn't really mean for it to happen,” Allison says. “We both just fell in love with Isaac a lot and he fell for us.” 

“Well I get to be best man and I get to make _all_ the wedding plans. If you cheat on me with another event planner, I'll be heartbroken! And I won't let you have any more free cake!” Stiles threatens. 

“Fine, fine!” They both laugh, and Stiles thinks it sounds a tad hysterical. 

“God. You two.” Stiles shakes his head. “Well, thanks for the information and for that very interesting phone call. Scottie, we still on for next week?” 

“Of course, dude. It’s national waffle week, I wouldn't miss our annual kickoff for that for anything.” 

“Good,” Stiles says. He checks the time. “I guess I'd better let you two go. Talk to you later.” 

“Bye, Stiles!” They chorus, and the call cuts out. 

It’s quiet without their voices echoing in the halls, and Stiles feels the pit of loneliness in his stomach. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and wanders into the kitchen to maybe find something to fill the void. 

 

~~~

 

The next morning is Saturday, and it looks like Stiles is diving headfirst into work. He's sitting at the kitchen table, binders spread all about him, and cell phone to his ear. He's yelling one minute, smiling the next, and Derek is just very confused as to what he does. When he looks over Stiles’s shoulder he manages to read something about a wedding before promptly getting a flailing arm through the head, and Derek realizes that Stiles is a wedding planner. Which honestly makes sense. 

Derek quickly gets bored just watching Stiles yell into the phone and decides to put on some music. It takes some concentration, but not nearly as much as it has been lately, for Derek to switch the CDs. He switches to track 5 on the only Pink Floyd CD he owns, and the CD skips a little before the first notes filter out. Derek turns it increasingly up until he can hear Stiles yelling “I’m on the damn phone!” Before finally, “I’ll have to call you back, Danny.” 

Stiles comes stomping into the room just as Clare Storry begins her scatting wails. “I can't even appreciate your creativity because I'm so annoyed with you right now!” Stiles yells, trying to be heard over the music. Just to be contrite, Derek turns it up. “Derek, I'm not kidding!” Once he realizes Derek isn't going to relent, he throws his hands up and stomps back into the kitchen. 

Derek follows him. He's been delighted to see that his power has been growing stronger by the day, and he decides that now would be a good time to test it out. As Stiles hunches over a blue binder, Derek gently takes ahold of a purple one near the opposite end of the table and lifts it—slowly, he can't lift things very fast at all and this is probably taking 90% of his concentration and energy. 

It's totally worth it to see Stiles’s reaction. The boy startles so hard he falls out of his chair, letting out a sound of exclamation as he hits the ground. He's up in a second though, rounding the table with accusing eyes. “Dammit Derek,” he says, pushing the binder down. “I have to get work done!” With Stiles’s eyes on him, it’s much easier to lift the binder now, and he pushes a force against Stiles. “Derek.” 

“Stiles,” he mocks, and he watches as the boy stills.

“Did you just…” He trails off, looking awed. 

“Stiles…?” Derek says again, this time wondering if the boy really heard him. 

“Oh my god. You did.” Stiles looks both pale and excited, as if his body can't decide whether to be ecstatic about this new development or terrified. From the look on his face, Stiles can't decide either. “I can hear you! Oh my god!” Stiles scrambles to his feet. “Say something else!” 

“Can you...see me?” Derek asks, mostly just for something to say. 

“No, man, but you're coming in clear as a whistle.” 

“That's not even a real saying,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles lets out a barking laugh. 

“You’re as grumpy as they all say you are!” He giggles, and Derek’s a little concerned for the guy’s sanity. Like, he just heard a ghost. And the ghost _confirmed_ it. 

“Are you...okay?” Derek asks, not sure what to say now that he can be heard. 

“Okay?” Stiles begins to pace. “I'm great! I’m not crazy now, you're real!” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “There's a good chance you're still crazy.” 

“Dude! Oh my god, this is...this is great! Oh wow I have so much to tell you! Cora and Laura miss you like crazy and oh my god, you _have_ to wake up right now! Like seriously man, you've been in a coma for a month or more, I'm a little foggy on the details, but you gotta go wake up!” 

“I...what?” Derek asks. Laura? Cora? Coma!? 

Stiles is breathing hard. “Shit. Sorry. Shit. I get excited sometimes.” He takes a moment before trying again. “Your sisters rented this place out to me because their brother, you, were hit by a truck in this really awful car accident. You are currently at the hospital down the street, in a coma. Have been for a little while.” Stiles gets a sudden open-mouthed look about him. “Oh my god, this is the coolest. You're not really a spirit, but you still are. You're like...an astral projection or something. An astral projection of your own soul!” 

“Are you high?” Derek asks.

“What!? No!” 

“Well then stop being an idiot. If what you said is true, I have to get to my body. Goodbye.” Derek turns and leaves the room, a little creeped out by Stiles’s kind-of coolness about the situation. 

“Wait!” Stiles yells, and it’s the last thing Derek hears before he fades—fucking _again._

 

~~~

 

The next morning, Stiles wakes up and can almost forget. Almost. With all the excitement of Derek and being able to hear him and recognizing him as a part of the house, Stiles could have pushed this date entirely out of his mind, maybe gone to work like it was a normal Wednesday, maybe let another part of his life go. 

Stiles rakes an exhausted hand through his tired hair and rubs his eyes. Getting out of bed is the hardest part. Once Stiles finally succeeds, he shuffles his way to his kitchen, the weight on his chest feeling like there's twenty elephants stacked upon it. He sits down at the table, puts his face in his hands, and takes a shuddering, stabilizing breath. It doesn't help. 

The time on his phone reads 7:17am, but Stiles punches in Scott’s number anyways and almost sobs in relief when he picks up on the second ring. “Hey Stiles!” Scott chirps, and Stiles’s heart sinks. Scott forgot today. But of course he did, life is about moving on and Scott has moved on, like Stiles should. But then again, it wasn't Scott’s heart that was broken. 

“Hi,” Stiles chokes out, and that's all it takes for Scott to catch on. 

“Oh buddy, it’s today, isn't it?” 

“Uh...yeah.” 

“Just hold on. I’m coming over.” Stiles doesn't even have the willpower to complain as he hears Scott telling his boss that he needs to leave. “Hang on, be there in a minute.” 

Stiles forces his finger to press the _End Call_ button, then promptly decides to curl up in the kitchen chair and wait. His thoughts flash back to her, to her perfections, her imperfections, her words, her laughs, her smiles, her tears. He remembers everything about her because he's terrified he’ll forget. He remembers every curve of her body and her beautiful hair and their first kiss back in high school and the way her hands would always find their way to the nape of his neck, where she’d play with his hair. 

Stiles doesn't even know that Scott’s used the spare key to get in until he feels a hand on his shoulder and Scott is saying that they should sit themselves on the couch. Stiles knows that Scott is just trying to keep him out of bed, keep him from dying from the inside out. 

“Do you want to talk about her?” Scott asks. 

It’s been two years, and Stiles has said no every time. Today is no different, but this time he can't stop the words spilling from his mouth. “She always said that she loved being the one to render me speechless.” Then he begins to laugh. He laughs and hopes that the bad feelings will become expelled from his body. The laugh takes no time at all to turn into a sob, and Stiles realizes that Scott has pulled him up into his lap and is holding him like he used to back when Stiles would cry about his mother. 

Those are some of Stiles’s most vivid memories. He was only ten, but tiny Scott put his tiny arms around a flailing, sobbing Stiles, and suddenly Scott became the whole world, the one thing that anchored Stiles to reality and saved him from falling into the black pit. 

That time parallels to now, about 15 years later, and Stiles is still just as grateful for his best friend now as he was then. 

Two years ago today, his wife Heather was killed by a stroke, caused by nothing more than a defective brain. She died instantly, his sweet, perfect wife. After Heather died, Stiles shut down. He ended many of his friendships, he didn't attempt to reach out to her parents (in his defense, they didn't reach out to him either), and he put a halt in his event planning business. Heather was the only reason that business existed in the first place, and just entering the building gave him such an intense panic attack that he couldn't leave his room for hours. 

So he lets Scott hold him as he cries, falling asleep in the comfort of the arms that have always felt like home. 

 

~~~

 

When Derek fades back in from the Nothingness, he realizes that something is wrong. He can't hear Stiles's stupid mutterings or his singing and nothing is banging around in the kitchen as he attempts to cook. He can't even hear the boy's light snoring or smacking lips that would indicate an early evening nap. Derek searches the house, because he's not exactly _worried,_ but he curious. Yes, that's it. Curious. Not worried. 

All the lights in the house are on like they usually are, and Derek finds himself flipping them off as he walks throughout the house, marking the rooms that he's already checked. Living room, kitchen, front hall, bathroom, office, guest room, other bathroom....until he's standing in front of the open door of the master bedroom. He can faintly hear...talking? Derek makes his way back into the bedroom, and finds himself walking towards the add-on bathroom. The door is open and Derek can see the harsh fluorescent lights casting shadows onto the carpet outside. The second he steps onto the linoleum, he freezes.

Stiles is sitting in the bathtub fully clothed, hands curled over his head, body hunched in on itself. Derek can't see his face, but the boy's shoulders are shaking and every time he moves the tub creaks slightly. He's sobbing. It's an awful sound, entirely raw and rough, accompanied by hiccups and sniffles and a lot of pain. Derek immediately comes over and tries to put a comforting hand on Stiles's shoulder, but it goes right through. "Dammit," he mumbles, and he wills himself with all his might to be _solid,_ to be able to comfort the boy in front of him, to just for _once_ let something go his way. He touches Stiles again. 

Once again, his hand goes right through. Stiles shivers this time, and he lifts his head. "Derek?" He asks, his voice high and shaky. His eyes are shot red, pink rimming his lids and his dampened eyelashes. There are wet tear tracks down his pink cheeks. His eyes, however glassy, hold a vague emotion of—hope? The feeling punches Derek in the gut. Stiles doesn't want to be alone. 

Derek desperately tries to make contact, tries to be the comforting hand that Stiles needs on his shoulder, but no matter how hard he tries he can't make himself solid. Stiles's face crumples as he realizes that he's alone. _You're not!_ Derek yells. _You're not alone, I'm right here!_ But the boy either won't or can't hear his cries. So Derek steps back and sits on the side of the tub, watching Stiles in his weakest moment and being unable to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me some feedback, and maybe some predictions? How are Stiles and Derek gonna fall in love? Is Derek ever gonna wake up? Will Boyd and Erica get married? What will Scott, Allison, and Isaac's wedding look like? 
> 
> What's gonna happen next!? (Hell if I know) 
> 
> Love you all for your endless support and love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek...bond!? What?????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 1,000 words longer than normal, hence why it took so long. Also, even though it's summer, my life is hectic as fuck and I've been trying to write while I live. It's been hard, but I've finally finished this chapter! I think I can wrap this story up in 2-3 more chapters (my plan only goes as far as 2 but there might be an epic epilogue in the future???) so be vigilant, my readers, for we will be finished soon! 
> 
> Seriously though, thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> As I've been reading through this again and again, I realize that I've left out so many things that I really really wanted to include, so eventually (like, in a long time eventually) I will be revisiting this story and fixing it hardcore. But this won't happen until I finish this story, revisit my How To Chain Your Dragon story, and probably publish my next big one. Which means we're probably looking at a huge revamp of this story in December (or January of 2017). I don't really know why I'm telling you all this, but I suppose what you should take from it is that I'm not happy with this story and I will be fixing it eventually :)
> 
> REMINDER THAT I DONT HAVE A BETA, SORRY FOR ANY AND ALL MISTAKES (feel free to point them out!).

Derek sits on the kitchen table toying with a glass of water, tilting it as far as he can without spilling any, then rotating it and repeating. He sighs again as he watches Stiles stand up on one of the kitchen chairs. Every single window in the house is open and it causes the draft to blow at Stiles’s loose-fitting shirt. 

“Evil spirits, I hereby tell you to leave this abode! You are not welcome here!” He says loudly, holding a smoking stick of “dragon blood” incense in one hand and shaking a bottle of lemon juice all over the kitchen floor with the other. 

“I'm pretty sure the neighbors can hear you,” Derek huffs. “Also, if you don't clean up the lemon juice after this I'm going to haunt you extra long. That shit is sticky.” 

Stiles pointedly ignores him, shaking the lemon juice bottle faster. “I bless this house in the name of Jesus Christ and pray that He brings His children to the light.” Stiles closes his eyes and waves the incense around slowly, and Derek knows that if he still had working lungs he would be choking on the smell. Dragon Blood was probably not the perfume of the 1600s. 

“Stiles, what the hell is this for?” Derek asks. “You know I’m not an evil spirit. Hell, I'm not even dead! This ritual thing won't work. And don't think i don't know that you got this off of a DIY Home Ghost Expulsion page.”

“Hey!” Stiles says, hands up. “You try to get rid of me, I try to get rid of you. It’s only fair.” 

Derek glares. “It’s not working.” Ever since Stiles had mentioned Laura and Cora, memories of his two siblings have been invading his mind and settling into their rightful places. His sisters used to tell him that he could scare anyone with his glare, but unfortunately Stiles can’t see him, and therefore is not scared. 

In fact, he's laughing. He continues to shake around the lemon juice bottle, his back to where Derek is perched on the table behind him. 

“Dude, I can literally _feel_ your glare! Oh man, what I wouldn't give to see--” Stiles turns, and his statement trails off as his eyes widen. And Stiles is now...oh god looking right at him. “Holy shit. Dude. I... _holy shit!”_

“Can you see me?” Derek asks softly, and it’s the most cliché thing for him to say, but right now he’s even shorter for words than normal. 

“I...yeah. _Yeah.”_ Stiles is staring unabashedly at Derek, eyes flitting all over his body. “Shit man, you were wearing _that_ when you died?” A small smirk is on his lips. 

Derek looks down at himself, hyper aware of what he’s wearing for the first time. He scowls back up at Stiles. “First of all, I’m not dead. Secondly…” Derek studies the dirt-smudged gray henley shirt and ruined jeans, not even managing to stop his wince at his mud-caked shoes. “I really don't have an explanation.” 

“Well what did you do, back when you were alive?” Stiles’s smile tells Derek that the little shit knows that he's messing with Derek by calling him dead. 

“I don't remember,” Derek says helplessly. 

Stiles pulls out his phone and shoots a quick text to someone. “There. We’ll find out soon enough.” Derek’s look must have been questioning enough, because the boy answers. “I texted Erica, and you were going to be the best man at her and Boyd’s wedding. I mean, if that’s not close I don't know what is.” 

“I was?” 

Stiles scoffs, “Dude, it sounds like you were quite the socialite back in your breathing days,” then promptly breaks into a fit of laughter, like he knows that Derek is just as much of a socialite as Stiles is a recluse. Derek should find it offensive, but Stiles isn't that far from the truth. Or at least, not as far as Derek can tell. “Do you not remember anything?” 

“I…” For some reason he wants to tell Stiles all about how he remembers his old routine, but not anyone important in his life, along with how frustrating this whole situation is. But then again, this is the kid that's living in his house, and he doesn't even know Stiles. Derek hardens his expression. “No,” he says gruffly. 

“Shit man. I know you didn't remember your sisters and such, but…” He shakes his head, looking directly at Derek. Derek resists a warm feeling that's shoving its way up his esophagus. It’s been too long since someone’s actually _looked_ at him. “I promise I’ll help you remember. I mean, it’s the least I can do.” He pauses when his phone buzzes. “Oh dude!” Stiles says, holding up his phone. 

“Stop calling me dude,” Derek grumbles.

“Erica said that...what? You're my freaking florist! Man, you're a florist.” Stiles shakes his head in wonder. “You have _awesome_ arrangements,” he breathes in awe. 

Derek’s head swims a little as images of a tiny flower shop pop into his mind. The inside is bright and open, and there's a tiny booth inside to the right of the doorway for his seasonal items: corsages and boutonnieres for semi formals and proms, rose bouquets for valentine’s day, poinsettia arrangements for Christmas. There are rows and rows of flower types that Derek knows like the back of his hand, and he remembers the way it feels when a customer comes in, explains exactly what they want, and Derek can just peruse the aisles and give them exactly what they need. 

Derek looks up in wonder. “I do.” 

Stiles laughs, and it looks like the most joyous thing in the world at the moment. “You do! You are! Oh my god, Derek, we’re figuring this out!” 

 

~~~

 

Stiles has to be honest. His heart stopped when Derek fucking _showed up out of nowhere._ But Stiles has to be honest again: His heart didn't stop because of the surprise factor. His heart stopped because Derek is a _fucking God of hot muscles and beautiful hair and stubble and oh god is that dirt on his cheek?_ The annoying, pain-in-the-ass ghost that’s been haunting his house (okay well technically it’s still Derek’s house but since Derek isn't here in the flesh Stiles is calling it his own) is the sexiest man Stiles has ever seen. 

It's a shame he's such a dick. 

Stiles truly didn't know what he was getting into when he promised Derek that he’d help the spirit remember more about himself, but he definitely didn't expect to be sitting in a Waffle House a few streets down from the duplex, in the shittiest table that's in the obviously old and overly-loved building. And he didn't expect this stilted conversation. 

“So did you come here often?” 

“Yes.” 

“Aaaaaare you remembering anything else?” 

“No.” 

“How did you even remember this place, though?” 

“People are staring. It looks like you're talking to yourself.” 

Stiles bangs his hands on the table. “Are you always like this!?” He spits angrily. The waitress at the table behind him startles a little, and he hurriedly wiggles his phone out of his pocket and slams it to the ear that’s facing towards the rest of the restaurant. “Are you always such a...a…” 

“An asshole?” Derek finishes, a smirk on his face. 

“I was going to say massive dick, but asshole works as well.” 

Derek shrugs. “I try.” 

Stiles throws his hands up into the air, then struggles to catch his phone before it can fall to the floor. “What is your problem? I’m here to help you! You seemed pretty onboard back at home, so what changed?” Derek sits in sullen silence. 

“Look man, I know you might hate me, but I’m the only person who can see you.” Stiles gestures around the restaurant. “I’m the only chance you've got.”

Derek is looking at his hands, which are folded neatly on the table. He watches as the butter on the stack of Stiles’s waffles melts ever-so-slowly. He looks up to see Stiles watching him carefully. He swallows. “I don't remember what food tastes like,” he says softly. 

Stiles doesn't really know what to say to that, but it’s definitely a start. 

“And...you know, I’ve come to realize that I only fade into the Nothingness when you're not around.” 

“You what?” Stiles asks, confused. 

Derek takes his finger and lets it go completely through the plate of waffles, waving it back and forth lazily. “Sometimes I fade away, and everything gets dark. I don't know where I go, but I call it the Nothingness. And, uh, I never fade when I’m with you. I fade whenever you leave.” 

Stiles props his chin on his hand. “Huh. Well what do you make of that?” And there comes the glare again. Stiles raises his hands. “Whoa man, sorry I asked.” 

Derek’s eyebrows are a force to be reckoned with, and Stiles is thoroughly surprised when he keeps talking. “I think it might have something to do with you in general.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you being...you.” Derek shakes his head. “When you first moved in, I couldn't even touch anything on this physical plane. I would fade in and out like a bad radio station. I didn't remember anything! But then you stayed around, touched my things, took over my house—” 

“Hey!” 

“And suddenly I could move that coffee mug. I could turn the stereo up as loud as I wanted to. I could change the CDs and levitate and be heard. And now, I can be seen. Hell, I can even leave my house!” He leans forward. “There's something about you that connects me to this world. I don't know what it is, and I can't say that I really like it, but it’s there and it’s glaringly obvious. So I may not like you much, but I think I’m kind of stuck with you if I ever want to wake up.” 

Stiles wipes fake tears from his eyes. “Derek, I've known you for three days tops, but that,” he pauses for a fake sob, “is the most heartfelt thing you've ever said to me.” Stiles looks up in time to see the ghost rolling his eyes, and he hides a smile with the back of his hand. Maybe he can get through to this asshole dick not-quite-dead spirit after all. 

“Where have you planned for us to go next?” Derek asks, a little resigned. 

Stiles grins wickedly as he throws a few dollars on the table. “Follow me.” 

Stiles has no problem leading Derek to the flower shop: it’s about five minutes away from his own business. If there's one thing to be said about Derek, it’s that this guy definitely didn't venture too far from his front door. Stiles thinks that it’s no wonder that he stayed behind to haunt his own house. It's also super surreal to walk next to a ghost. The sidewalks are pretty crowded since it’s nearing lunchtime, and Derek is literally walking _through_ people. 

“So hey,” Stiles starts, bringing his cell phone up to his ear to give the illusion that he's actually talking to someone who's there, “I've been wondering something. Why is it that you can go through people and tables and stuff but you can't go through walls? Also, why can you stand on a chair but walk right through it? It makes no sense.” 

Derek gives Stiles a dry look. “Does any of this make sense?” 

Stiles lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I get your point. But still,” he swerves in front of a few people, leaving behind some rude glares, “I want to know everything about spirits.” 

Derek mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “I have no idea why you'd want that,” but Stiles is too excited to bother with Señor Grouchypants. 

“We’re here!” He announces excitedly, and Derek looks up at the building in wonder. Across the top of the light grey building, artfully arranged red letters spell out: Floral Art and Arrangement Boutique. “Oh my gosh. This is cuter in person.” When Derek looks at him oddly, Stiles rushes to explain. “I mean, I saw pictures of your flower shop on the internet, and then visited. Once so I could find the place, but seeing it here with you...oh my god, _you_ own a _boutique.”_ Stiles looks at Derek with a wide, open-mouthed grin. “That is the best thing I've heard all day.” 

Derek rolls his eyes and walks past Stiles, obviously done with him. “Is the door unlocked?” He gestures towards the swinging glass door, and Stiles nods. 

“I have no clue why your key ring has so many keys on it, and what they're actually used for, but let me tell ya, it took me a good hour or so to find the right key for your boutique.” Derek pauses in front of it, looking almost afraid to go in, before he sets his jaw and pushes the door open. Stiles hurriedly follows him and hopes that no one saw the door open by itself. 

When Stiles gets inside, he can't see Derek, and for a moment he panics. Did Derek disappear because he finally died? Is he coming back? Has he become one with the building? But then Stiles catches a glimpse of the ghost and breathes a sigh of relief. Then he actually looks around. 

The boutique is small and quaint, with long rows of permanent tables slicing the floor plan into three hotdog style parts. The place is overflowing with flowers, all of them gorgeous in color and texture, their smells overpowering and faint at the same time. Derek walks the rows, once in a while lashing his hand out and delicately caressing the petals of a flower or two. A look of awe has overcome his face, and Stiles knows that the man is remembering. 

Once he’s touched as many flowers as he can, Derek makes his way behind the counter with the cash register. There's a little black chalkboard propped up against a little cactus plant that reads _“Ask us about our Bleeding Heart bulbs special!”_ Stiles tilts his head at that. “Did you write this? ‘Cause man, that just sounds so awkward. No sentence flow at all.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, and looks to see Derek smiling a little and rolling his eyes. Derek goes to shove him, and Stiles startles when he feels the man—ghost—go right through him. The smiles bleed from both their faces, as if they're just now remembering that Derek isn't _real._ Sometimes it's easier to forget. 

“Could we—?”

“Should we—?” They both begin at the same time, and immediately the two go silent and stare at each other, terrified of saying the wrong thing. Derek’s mouth is still shaped around what his next word was going to be, and he quickly looks down at his feet. Likewise, Stiles finds another thing to look at. Wow, what an interesting baby cactus. Is it actually a baby, or is it just an oddly miniature version of a regular cactus? And if so, is it technically the same type as its large counterpart, or is it something—

“Will you take me to see my body?” Derek blurts, then immediately looks like he regrets it. Stiles’s mind goes completely and utterly blank as he stares dumbly at the ghost. “I don't mean to ask too much of you,” he rushes on, saying the most Stiles has ever really heard him say at once. “But since I seem to disappear every time you're not around, I was just hoping that maybe we could visit me? Maybe it will help me, y’know, feels whole again.” He's shuffling his feet, and seeing a grown man reduced to a child breaks something small in Stiles’s heart. 

“Of course, Derek. I was wondering the same thing, I just didn't want to spring it on you too soon.” 

Derek looks up, sure. “I've been in a coma for over a month. I need to see if I can fix this.” Derek looks like he never has before, confident and sure of himself, and the way he carries his posture afterwards (and later on the walk to the is hospital) is absolutely stunning to watch, not to mention irresistible to look away from. 

“Then let's go.” Stiles can barely spit out, holding the door open for his companion. 

 

…

 

Derek somehow convinced Stiles to take the bus to the hospital, but not before making a beautiful flower arrangement that said “Get better soon!” and “I wish you health” with green rose, cornflowers, and white poppy. This way, Derek had reasoned with a skeptical Stiles, Stiles could walk into the hospital with purpose. 

Derek sat in the bus seat next to the boy-- _”I cannot believe you're making me do this, this is so unsanitary”_ \--and listened to him complain the whole fifteen minutes there (“Well you're not the one who can contract disease from these seats, Derek”). 

Now the two of them are standing in front of the head nurse’s desk on floor three, Stiles rocking uncertainly back and forth on his heels. He's grasping the bouquet of flowers in his hands, and Derek wills him not to fuck this up. 

“Um yeah, I'm here to see Derek Hale?” He says, smile wide. 

“Are you family?” The nurse asks. Her face is impassive and incredibly stony. 

“I…” Stiles has the decency to look embarrassed, “I live with him. We, ah, shared living arrangements.” Derek is impressed because that technically isn't a lie, and his words make the Head Nurse’s face soften considerably. 

“He's in room 309. Follow me,” she points to a nurse and appoints her to her previous position, then leads Stiles and Derek to the room. 

“I haven't seen him yet,” Stiles babbles, and Derek resists the urge to shake Stiles uncontrollably. There is no room for nervous talking! “I've been out of town for a while, and I've only now been able to come home.” 

The head nurse looks at him with sympathy eyes. “Completely understandable, honey. There's been no change since he got here.” 

Stiles bites his lip, and Derek realizes that the man has been refusing to look at him since they entered the hospital. “Will he ever wake up?” 

The nurse places a hand on his bicep. “Many people wake up from comas such as this one, but he's been in it so long we aren't able to make an accurate prediction. No one can be sure with something as delicate as the human brain.” Stiles nods, expression hard, and Derek thinks that the boy is much better of an actor than Derek gave him credit for. The nurse opens the door to room 309 and they enter, Derek following. 

Stiles immediately inhales a little too much air and gasps comically, then looks at the nurse. “Could we...I...have a little bit alone with him? I...need to say goodbye.” He whispers the last bit. 

“I'll be right outside.” The nurse answers, closing the door gently behind her. 

Stiles looks at Derek. “Dude, it's _you.”_ Derek stares down at his body, wondering if this is the right time to use the words astral projection. There are breathing devices and an IV and a lot of machines, and the pale body lying on the hospital bed isn't even _him_ anymore. “Here, try to reconnect with you body. Like, lie down or something.” 

Derek tentatively crawls up on the hospital bed, letting his fingers go through his body. It's surreal. He lies down, taking the shape of his body, and wills himself to reconnect. He imagines being thrust back into it, being whole again, and when he thinks he’s spent enough time trying he sits back up. “Not working.” 

Stiles sighs and bounces on his toes. “Damn.” He sets the flowers on a table that's nearby, and begins looking at all he things Derek’s family and friends left for him. “Aw, you look so happy here!” He points to a picture of Derek with a large black man and a blonde-haired girl, all of them beaming and wearing ridiculous party hats. 

“Boyd and Erica,” he says with a dawning realization. 

“Yup! And look, you with your sisters.” Stiles points to another one that has a full-body picture of him, Cora, and Laura, all of them dressed in black pants and blue shirts. “Aw, you're all so cute!” Derek rolls his eyes. The picture was literally taken last year, when they all finally moved to the city. 

“Sir? I can't let you stay here any longer.” The nurse pops her head in, and Stiles’s eyes flags to Derek’s. 

“Just one more minute. Please.” The nurse nods and closes the door again. “Okay Derek, I'm going to try something, and I need you to look away.” Stiles is walking to the bedside of Coma Derek, and ghost Derek knows that he looks confused. “Just do it!” He says. 

Derek sighs and turns towards the window, away from Stiles and Coma Derek. His hand feels...odd, like someone is holding it. There's a funny buzzing feeling that's overcoming it, and he whips around. “What did you do?” 

Stiles is standing there, holding the hand of Coma Derek. “So you did feel it,” his voice is cloaked in wonder. “This is great! It means that you're still connected with your body!” 

The nurse comes back in. “It's time.” She says, and Stiles nods. He presses a kiss to Coma Derek’s forehead before following her out, and Derek feels a tingling where Stiles’s lips were. 

As Stiles and Derek get ready to leave the third floor, a loud screech interrupts the air and a child comes barreling through Derek and runs into room 309. “Peter!” An exasperated but familiar voice yells, and Stiles ducks behind a janitorial cart right before Laura comes rushing through the hallway, entering room 309 as well. 

“Laura and her kid are here to visit me,” Derek says, watching them. He sees as a doctor walks into the room not long after them, and Derek feels an overwhelming curiosity. “I have to know what they're saying.” He says simply, and leaves Stiles calling softly after him to come back. 

He slinks into the room, sees Peter messing with Coma Derek, and instead walks to the back where Laura and the doctor are talking. “We haven't seen any new brain activity in a while,” the doctor is saying. “I don't know if you knew this, but when Derek registered at this hospital he filled out an ethics questionnaire. On it, he stated that he didn't believe in prolonging life and that he wouldn't want it for himself.” 

Derek sees where this conversation is going very quickly, and he hurried to stop it. “No, no! That was before, Laura! But I'm here now, can't you see me? _Can't you feel me?_ You're my sister, we’re all we have left, you can't just give up on me, Laura! Please!” 

Laura glances back at Coma Derek before looking at the doctor. She has unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “My brother and sister and I have been through so much together.” She looks at the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. “I know he wouldn't want to make us suffer more than we already have. I never thought it would end this way for him.”

“These are the papers authorizing us to take him off of life support,” he says helpfully, handing her a clipboard. 

“I'll think about it,” she says. 

“The statistics aren't wrong, and coma patients with no new brain activity rarely come out of their comas, and—” 

_“I said I'd think about it,”_ Laura glares menacingly at the doctor, and he backs away. 

“Okay, great.” 

“Peter, we’re leaving.” 

“But I want to play with Uncle Derek more!” 

_“We’re leaving!”_ The two of them march out of there, Laura gripping the clipboard in one hand and Peter’s arm in the other. 

Derek breathes out a sigh and watches his sister go. “Thank you, Laura.” 

He walks towards Stiles to see the boy looking at him with expectant eyes. “What happened? Laura seemed pretty pissed.” 

“They want her to sign papers to turn the machines off,” Derek says quietly. “She's taking the papers home to think about it.” 

“Shit.” Stiles says. “ _Shit._ We need a plan.” They begin to walk out of the hospital. “We need a plan to save your stupid little ghostly ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so incredibly amazing! Please comment and leave kudos, as I am a sucker for critiques and I'd love to know if you like the story! Thanks everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall to shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might as well put me in front of a firing squad and shoot me dead, because this update took FOREVER (and believed me, I'm so so sorry about it). I've been in a whirlwind of college searching, applications, family shit, and traveling, and have not found time to update this little thing until tonight (I just got back home from a softball World Series ahh). 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is the last one leading into the final ending for our two characters (dun dun DUN), but that's not counting the epilogue I'm trying to plan. 
> 
> That's right folks....one more chapter, if everything goes according to plan! 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Stiles was in college, he had trouble focusing. Like, a _lot_ of trouble focusing. He would always forget when he had his most recent dose of Adderall and would drink way too much coffee. But the main thing that took his focus away from his education wasn't the drugs or the caffeine: it was a girl by the name of Lydia Martin. She was gorgeous, confident, and everything Stiles wasn’t. Unfortunately, she was also way out of Stiles’s league. 

After pining for her all through their freshman year, Lydia finally took pity on him and let him be her partner for integrated Chem and Physics, where she got to display all of her genius to him. It was both terrifying and arousing. Eventually, though, she outright told him that she had no interest in being with him and saw him as a great intellectual challenge rather than a love interest. 

That pretty much shattered Stiles’s heart, as well as his self esteem, until he met Heather. And well…

Anyway, once Stiles started out his own business, he quickly realized that he would need a partner in crime that was intelligent, effective, and--most importantly--connected. He ended up calling Lydia Martin. She readily agreed to invest in the company and become a 40% owner, and while Stiles does almost all the planning, she sets up the main planning appointments, advertises, and does the initial interview with prospective couples and party hosts to make sure that Cakewalk will fit all their event needs. 

Lydia has always pulled through when Stiles needs her to, and that’s why she’s the first person he calls when him and Derek decide that they need help with a plan. 

“We’ll think of something,” Derek says stubbornly. 

“Don't be an idiot!” Stiles gripes. “You might actually be dead by tomorrow if Laura and Cora decide to sign those papers. If we can't think of something to do by then, you are screwed!” 

“Why do you care?” Derek asks sulkily, turning away from Stiles. 

“What did you just ask me?” He knows the tone in his voice is dangerous, but something about Derek makes him play with fire now in a way he always refused to as a kid. 

Derek whirls on the young man, eyes ablaze. “I asked: why do you care!? Sure, I’m living in your house, but all you have to do is wait for my sisters to pull the fucking plug!” Derek throws his arms up in the air and lets them slap noisily on his thighs when they fall. “So why do you care about saving me?” 

Stiles loses his fight and just stands and stares blankly at the man before him. “Why do I care?” He asks. “You're a human being. Living, breathing. Albeit, not on your own, but you're still human. I...I mean we’re kind of friends, aren't we?” His voice is tiny. 

“...yeah. I guess we are,” Derek answers, steadfastly looking everywhere but at Stiles.

“Okay then.” Stiles says, bouncing on his toes. “I'm going to call Lydia. And you're going to deal with it.” He already has the numbers punched in so he hits the green call button. Just like always there are three rings, then, 

“What, Stiles?” 

“I'm hurt, never a hello for me. Anyways, I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“When don't you?” She sighs. “This doesn't have anything to do with your incredibly hot ghost problem, does it?” 

Stiles can hear the teasing undertones in her voice, and his face heats up considerably as he regrets ever telling her that Derek is hotter than an underwear model. “Actually, it does. Derek is alive and in a coma, but he's still a ghost.” 

“Really? That's interesting,” she says, and Stiles can hear her brain working over the phone. 

“Anyways, his doctor suggested that his family turn the machines off, but he's obviously still here. We've been trying to think of a plan...you know, something we can do, but so far nothing. Do you have anything that can help us?” He inadvertently crosses his fingers in a childlike gesture of hope and good luck, something he's been doing since he was a kid. 

“Hm. I'm not an expert or anything,” she starts, “but I haven't heard of this happening before. Ever.” She sighs again. “I'll call some of my contacts, but you have to promise me to do some more research.” 

“There's a chance they'll shut the machines off tomorrow.” Stiles warns. 

“I'll get back to you within the next two hours.” She hangs up. A little of the tension in his shoulder eases. He trusts Lydia more than he trusts anyone—even Scott, because while Scott is loyal as hell, Lydia is _effective_. 

He turns to Derek. “Lydia’s on it. What do you want to do with our next two hours?” 

Derek looks oddly nervous and maybe a little more serial-killer looking than he usually does. He's rubbing his arm when he looks at Stiles. “Do you remember that day, I think it was only a few days ago but I don't know, I lose time so fast, when you were in the bathtub? And you were crying and I put my hand on your shoulder and tried to talk but you couldn't feel or see me but you still thought I might be there?” He says it oddly fast and breathy, and Stiles watches Derek’s face carefully. 

“You were there?” 

He nods and licks his lips. “Yeah. But uh, and you don't like, have to—but why were you crying?” 

Stiles sits, because that's what you do when you tell someone about your dead wife. And he doesn't know why, but he feels like he needs to tell Derek. “When I was in my Junior year of college, I met a girl named Heather. God, she was the prettiest thing I had ever seen, just as pretty as Lydia, but in her own special way. She had that girl-next-door aura to her, her hair was like soft hay, and she always smelled like lavender. Everything about her was soft and calming and...beautiful. When I asked her out—” Stiles doesn't mean to but a small laugh bursts from his lips, “when I asked her out I was so surprised when she said yes. When I asked her why…” His voice softens, “she said that she loved that I lived life like I enjoyed it.” He feels his throat closing, but he continues the story. It has to all come out now. 

“We were so in love. We’d do all the stupid shit new couples do, like go to the movies and make out in the back of the theatre, hold hands at carnivals, skinny dip in the neighboring frat house’s pool. We’d sneak out of view and make out between our classes in the hallways of the university. I had fallen so hard and so fast for this beautiful, perfect girl.

“She always knew what to say,” his voice chokes. “She always knew when I needed silence or when I needed her to tell me that she loved me. I told her that as much as I could through my words and kisses and gestures. I still don't think I ever told her enough, though.” He swallows. He's not to the hard part yet. “I asked her to marry me three days after graduation, and a week after that I was planning our wedding. She's the one who pushed me to go into that business, y'know? I thought it was just a stupid dream of mine, but she made it a reality. She was always doing that, and it sounds stupid, but she was always making my dreams come true.” 

“She was so beautiful on our wedding day,” he says, and this part is hard to remember not because of lack of memory, but because the memory is so dear. “When she walked down that aisle, hair falling down her back and white dress flowing like waves, I knew I had made the right choice. She's one of the only people who could render me speechless.” He knows that there's a tiny, fond smile on his face. 

“There was always something about her smile. It would lift up higher on the left side than the right, and she's one of those people that shows their top teeth when they smile.” He shakes his head, knowing that he's wandering away from the main point. “We were together for a year. I had opened my business, she was selling real estate here, and we were so, so happy. Trying for a baby, actually.” Stiles smirks again, but this time it’s more reassuring. “Yeah, maybe it was really early, but we both wanted kids so bad.

“And then she died. Just like that. Poof. Boom. Gone. Brain aneurism, obviously nothing they could do. One second she was fine, talking to me and laughing her stupid giggly laugh that I loved so much, and the next she was on the floor, and then I was cradling her in my arms, and she was gone. I was there when she died, and I didn't even get to say goodbye.” Stiles wouldn't say that he's mechanical about the way he says it, but he feels oddly detached, like the feelings of the occurrence were just too much and his heart decided to cut the cord to the feelings part of his brain. “I know most people don't say goodbye, that death can be fast and overwhelming...but, she was right here.” Stiles flattens his arms out in front of him, as if he's holding her again. 

Derek sits next to Stiles, so close that he's letting their arms touch, Derek’s coolly going through Stiles’s. “I lost family too,” he says. “My sisters, uncle, and I, we were the only survivors from a large fire that burned and killed my family.” Stiles looks at the ghost with wide eyes, mouth hanging open slightly. “We were hosting a family reunion, like we do every year. The house burned with everyone trapped inside. Cora was at a friend’s house, Laura and I were coming home from the student talent show. Peter managed to drag himself from the fire, somehow.” 

Derek shakes his head. “It was so hard. Laura was barely eighteen, and suddenly she had to look out for her two little siblings and her vegetable of an uncle.” His hands are clasped in front of him, he's still talking to the ground. “After about three years of his condition staying the same, we turned the machines off. It was a relief that we all needed, and we had to move on. Cora studied in Spain, Laura and I lived in New York for a while. Then Laura moved to Boston, and I followed soon after. Just a few years ago Cora came back, and we were all together in the same city again. We were happy,” he says softly. “And then this.” 

He looks up at Stiles. “I miss our family every day. Laura and Cora and I did our best to keep them alive, but there's a huge gaping place in my chest where they used to be. For me to die could devastate my sisters.” His gaze is intent. “Even if I do die, you have to make sure they're okay. They're the most important people in my life. Even if I die, they have to keep living.” 

Stiles’s voice is hard. “No, you won't die. I don't care if you've decided that you'll be okay if you die, because I won’t. Come on.” He grabs his wallet and keys and storms from the house. Derek follows in confusion. 

“Where are we going?” 

“To Laura’s house. We’re going to convince her that you're still here.” 

 

 

“I take it back, calling Lydia was a great idea and we should definitely wait for her to call back. Yup, sounds like a good plan.” Derek rambles conversationally as Stiles marches down the street, hurriedly-scribbled address gripped in one hand, his phone--which is yelling walking instructions to him--in the other. He _would_ have asked Derek, but the ghost is being stubbornly unhelpful and if Stiles has to guess, Derek is only coming along so he won't have to deal with the Nothingness or whatever again. Or maybe because he just wants to see Laura one more time. Stiles doesn’t push it. 

Laura's house is surprisingly smaller than Stiles had imagined it, but it's pleasant with it's pretty daffodils, daisies, and sunflowers decorating the outside. Derek smirks at Stiles’s expression as they stand on her doorstep. “Nervous?” His smile is smug. 

Stiles scowls. “Well maybe I wouldn't be, if you were on my side for this.” Derek shrugs, the smile fading but not leaving his face entirely. 

“How about I help you out?” He asks deviously, and before Stiles can blink Derek is reaching over and ringing Laura’s very loud and very obnoxious doorbell. 

“Derek!” Stiles hisses. “I don't even know what I'm going to—Hi! Laura!” Stiles immediately plasters a smile onto his face. 

“Stiles!” She looks surprised, but it's pleasant, as if she actually wanted to see him. “What are you doing here?” 

He opens his mouth, closes it. “You're such an idiot,” Derek sighs. “Honestly. Do I look like Prince Charming to you?” Stiles hopes that he's not expecting an answer. “Tell her that you want to discuss something with her, then ask if you two could talk inside.” 

Stiles does so, and finds himself and Derek following Laura into her living room. She looks mildly interested as she sits him down. A scream sounds off somewhere else in the small house, and Stiles glances at Laura questioningly. She waves her hand nonchalantly. 

“Just my son. You can ignore him. Now, what did you need?” 

Stiles finds immense comfort in the fact that Derek is sitting on the couch beside him, saying lines into his ear as if Stiles was an actor that had forgotten the entire script on show night. “I didn't even know it before,” he says, “but Derek was my florist. I never knew his last name until Boyd and Erica told me, but in this last year we became pretty great friends.” 

“Friends?” Laura asks cautiously. “Derek doesn't have many friends, and he never spoke about you.” 

“It was more on the DL,” Stiles admits bashfully, “but we met up once in awhile and talked over drinks. I really got to in your brother personally.” Stiles looks at Laura, really looks at her, and stops saying the lines that Derek’s feeding him. “He helped me get through a lot of shit. He helped me survive what happened to Heather. Laura, I really think that you should give him a chance to come back. Let him fight this battle a little longer. Please.” 

Stiles hates the way Laura is looking at him, hands clenched into fists and tears pooling in her eyes. “Oh Laura, what did you do?” Derek asks softly, eyes gentle. 

“I'm sorry,” Laura chokes. “I already signed the papers to allow them to turn the machines off.” 

“Oh Laura,” Derek repeats, but his voice sounds miles away. 

Stiles’s world feels like it’s crashing down. There's a tiny hole, and only a sliver of light escapes through it, and right now that tiny hole is all Stiles can breathe through, all he can see through, and somehow Derek’s voice has made it through to him. 

“When?” He asks, horrified. “When are they doing it?” 

Laura has tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn't want to, Stiles, but Derek’s had such a hard life. Kate ruined him, he never felt true happiness after our family died. He spent all of the rest of his life trying to redeem himself, and he never knew that he was enough. He deserves to rest.” A loud sob escapes her. 

_“When, Laura?”_ His voice is desperate. 

“Tomorrow. I'm sorry.” 

“But he's still in there, Laura! You have to believe me. I know Derek, and I know that he's still fighting. Even if he doesn't think that he deserves to live, he's fighting because he loves you and Cora and Peter so much.” 

Laura shakes her head. “That's not my brother anymore. That's a corpse lying in his hospital bed. Besides,” her gaze lazily floats over where her brother is sitting, “even if he was still in there, we couldn't do anything. The papers are binding, no matter what he's losing his life support tomorrow.” She grabs onto Stiles’s hands, her grip is desperate and demanding. “It's time to let go. His suffering will finally be over.” 

Stiles has one tear rolling down his cheek. He had so much more ammo. He was going to explain to her about Derek’s ghost, about the duplex, about seeing the body and their odd past-the-grave connection and how her brother was sitting right here in her house, right now, but in that moment he realized that Laura had lost her fight, her will to suffer through Derek any longer. 

And he hated himself for being able to understand that. 

 

…

 

Derek isn't really sure how he's supposed to feel. He thinks that his heart is supposed to be ripping into two pieces, that his mind should be churning, that he should cry or scream or so something to vent his frustrations. Curiously, though, he can think of nothing but Stiles. 

Stiles, the absolute stranger who moved into his house. Stiles, the son who had frequent phone calls with his dad that included him talking in soothing tones. Stiles, the broken widow who still felt the sting of his wife’s incredible loss. Stiles, the friend who jumped headfirst into helping the ghost in his house, not even looking for a reward. Derek is reminded of that one children’s story, The Grinch, when his heart swelled in response to the thought of Stiles. 

And for the first time, he thinks that he might not want to die. 

They're back in their home, (Derek’s wondering when he stopped thinking of it as _his_ and started thinking of it as _theirs_ ) and Stiles still hasn't talked. Right when they had gotten back, Lydia had called back and told them that no one has ever heard of this before. Stiles had almost hung up on her, but Derek convinced him to stay on the line. “I'm coming over, and I’ll arrive at about 6am,” she had said. “We _will_ figure this out.” Stiles, however, is still despondent. His eyes hold a slightly haunted look, and he's staring at the dark hardwood floors. The time’s been ticking by, and when Derek glances at the clock he sees that it’s 9pm. About twelve hours until he dies. 

He stands abruptly. “Come on.” He looks at Stiles expectantly. 

“What?” 

“Come on.” He says again. This time he jerks his head towards the stairs. Stiles looks confused, but he follows anyway. “it's my last night, I thought I'd spend it with you.” They enter the bedroom and Derek stands at the foot of the bed. Stiles joins him, and they're standing less than a foot away. Derek can hear Stiles’s breath. Wishes he could feel it. 

“I wish I could touch you,” he finds himself whispering. 

Stiles’s smile is watery, and he chucks his pants. He crawls into bed and indicates that Derek should do the same. They lay on top of the covers, Derek sprawled out and Stiles curled up into himself, facing each other and unable to look away. The boy’s eyes are wide and glistening, his skin so pale it almost glows. 

Stiles lifts a hand and extends it towards Derek, as if to touch him. Derek reaches back, meeting him halfway, and carefully presses his hand against Stiles’s. It tries to go right through, but Derek holds it so it doesn't. He can almost feel the warmth of the boy’s hand. 

And for the first time, Derek thinks that he might want to _live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading and taking the time to check this out. Please leave feedback if you have a moment to spare, and I would appreciate any kudos you can send my way! Thanks guys, love you all and all of your support daily! Xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY
> 
> This is the final chapter, and I'm so relieved. 
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL TO JUPITER AND BACK

“What the fuck, Stiles? This is the most fucking insane favor you've ever asked of me.” 

“Come on, Scott, it's not like I'm asking you to help me steal a body!” 

Scott whirls on him from behind the steering wheel, eyes squinting. “But that's _exactly_ what you're asking me to do!” He yells. 

Stiles throws his hands up in the air. “Oh, okay, so when you ask me to join you on a 12-hour stalking trip to find out if Allison is cheating I do it with little to no complaints, but if I need help taking a body from the hospital, suddenly it’s _‘Whoa, no Stiles, I can't do that, it’s so illegal.’”_ He does air quotes. 

Scott gives him his _“duh”_ look. “Duh!” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and swivels in the passenger seat to give Derek a discreet look of exasperation. 

“Why are we doing this anyway?” Scott sighs, resigned. 

“Because Derek's not dead, and they're going to turn the machines off in...2 hours.” 

“You don’t even know Derek!” 

“Yeah I do!” Stiles splutters. “I...he's my florist!” 

Scott stops at a red light and gives Stiles another you-are-insane look. “You have never spoken to your florist in your entire life.” 

“Whatever, Scott.” Luckily, Scott knows enough to not question Stiles too much, and the trust that exists between them is immeasurable. 

“Cutting it close,” Scott admonishes with a glance at his mother’s car clock. 

“Shut up, Scott. I'm nervous enough.” The way Stiles’s fingers are drumming against his thigh seems to solidify this fact, and when he feels a chill run down his spine he turns to see Derek brushing his hand lightly on his shoulder. He’s briefly reminded of their night together, where everything felt right even if it didn't really feel like anything. Their experimental touches, the chills that ran through Stiles’s body when Derek's hand brushed through his pants and cock. He had never enjoyed a hard-on more. 

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Derek says softly, eyes searching Stiles’s. But Stiles won't let him find whatever he’s looking for, and nods his head as he turns back to facing forwards. 

Scott turns into the hospital parking lot, parking in a 15 Minute space near the emergency room doors, then nervously follows Stiles into the hospital and up to the third floor. The nurse is the same one from before, but Stiles hurriedly ducks past her and into a room that Derek’s beckoning from. Once they burst inside, Derek disappears again. 

“Stiles! This is a restricted area!” Scott hisses, but his mouth slams shut when he sees the inside of the room. It’s a huge storage closet with lab coats, extra scrubs, and rows of medical supplies. “Whoa, this is like the shopping center for doctors.”

Stiles wastes no time grabbing a coat. “Come on, get one on too, we need to disguise ourselves.” 

Scott hesitantly takes one for himself and shrugs into it. “We’re actually doing this, aren't we?” 

Stiles nods grimly. Derek comes back and looks at Stiles pointedly. “You need to grab exactly what I tell you, okay?” Stiles nods, and as Derek points to breathing tubes and other weird devices, Stiles impulsively grabs them and shoves them into Scott’s awaiting hands. Once they have everything, Stiles turns to Scott. 

“An hour and fifteen minutes till plug pulling time,” Stiles says. “We need to get him out now.” 

They made the short trek back to room 309, and Scott nudges Stiles. “Man, you are so lucky my mom has a nice minivan to fit this all in.” 

Stiles smiles sweetly. “I know.” He looks around conspicuously before opening the door to the room and ushering Scott inside, then closing the door behind him. “Okay, we have to unhook these things and reconnect them with here and also make sure that his heart monitor doesn't get unhooked and then wheel him out without too many people noticing.” He looks up to see Scott staring oddly at Coma Derek. “What?” 

“Nothing man, but I just...dude, this is the guy Allison wanted to set you up with.” 

“She...what?” 

“I'm serious! Allison knows his family or something, they're like old family friends, and she said that she thought he and you would look good together or whatever. She showed me a picture and everything.” 

“Weird,” Stiles says, and contemplatively looks down at Coma Derek. “We would look good together, though.” 

_“Stiles,”_ Derek hisses from the corner. _“Hurry. Up.”_

“Cmon, we have to get this done,” Stiles reminds Scott, and together they quickly find new plugins for all of Derek’s machines and IVs. “Okay, so I’ll wheel his bed and you wheel his IV, and we’ll get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible. You can have the minivan unlocked and ready to go?” Scott nods. “Perfect. Let’s get a move-on.” 

Stiles begins to wheel Derek’s body from the room, both Derek and Scott trailing him, and everything goes well for about thirty seconds. Then they hit the elevator and a man that Stiles recognizes as Derek’s doctor exits the open elevator. He smiles dismissively at Stiles and Scott, briefly looking down at the hospital bed before continuing walking. They bustle into the elevator just as the doctor realizes what he just saw. “Hey! That's my patient!” He says, turning to run back into the elevator. Stiles is frantically jabbing the _**Close Doors**_ button, and the door slide shut just in time to shut the doctor out.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit,” Scott chants as shouts and raised voices fill the rooms above them. 

Stiles looks over and smiles at him. “Thanks for being my best friend.” The elevator dings, alerting them of their arrival on the main floor. “Now get ready to run!” The doors slide open and the two burst through. Luckily, the opening is clear and they rush towards the emergency exit. Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, a security guard jumps in front of them and blocks the way. 

“Stop!” He yells. “Stop right there!” Stiles snorts. They made it this far, like he’s _really_ going to stop just because a big guy with a taser says so. Said taser man grabs ahold of one side of the gurney, jostling Derek’s body. The guard makes a grab for Stiles, but the man dances out of the way. 

“Run Stiles!” Scott yells, and lets go of the IV as he tackles the guard to the ground. Stiles listens and rushes into the main part of the lobby, where he dodges about six people before getting surrounded by guards and hospital staff. A quiet siren is going off on all of the nurses’ desks, and Stiles is suddenly very aware of the fact that Derek’s heart monitor is going off the charts, and that his breathing mask has been ripped from his face. 

“Derek?” He asks frantically, and the ghost runs into view. 

“Stiles? What's wrong?” Then he looks down to see himself, helpless and without any device to help him breathe, and his eyes lock onto Stiles’s. “I can feel it.” 

“Feel what?” Stiles asks a little hysterically. Derek’s looking a little awestruck, face flushing despite the fact that he's a ghost. “Derek, what can you feel?” 

“I can feel myself flying.” The ghost is slowly dissipating, getting more see-through and...unreal. “I always wanted to fly, you know.” 

“Derek! Derek, this isn't the end of a stupid movie, you can't say shit like that and you can't leave me. I'd do anything for you.” 

“But Stiles, I think I'm already…” His voice sounds too far away, his figure is almost gone, still fading fast, and Stiles can see a blur of concerned and scared faces around him, staring. Watching. 

“Don't leave me!” He says furiously at the body before him, but the silence is deafening. No heart monitor, nothing. He shakes Derek, pressing his hands against the cooling body, and does the only thing he can think to do: he presses his lips onto Derek’s. His lips feel waxy and lukewarm, unresponsive and hard. “I love you,” he whispers to the unmoving form lying on the gurney. _“I love you.”_

Hands are yanking on him, and his arms are being forced behind his back as cuffs are taken out to bind him with. “Derek,” he says softly, refusing to look away from the body lying in front of him. “Derek,” he rasps, willing him to wake up. “Derek,” he whispers, and it sounds like a goodbye.

The room is perfectly silent, Stiles’s grief filling it with a heaviness that was never there before. Every emotion is gone from Stiles’s being, and all he can think about is Derek’s smile at the Waffle House, Derek’s maniacal laughter back when they had their small prank war, Derek’s ghostly hands gently going through his own. His heart hurts too much to think. 

Then, suddenly, a sound starts up, faint at first and then growing in confidence, like a little bird learning to fly. The beeping of a heart monitor is the only thing filling Stiles’s ears, and he watches as Derek’s eyes flutter open slowly, taking in his surroundings. 

“Derek?” Stiles whispers. 

“Derek! Oh my god!” Laura and Cora rush to his bedside, and Stiles blinks at the sisters, not even knowing that they had arrived at some point. 

“Laur?” He croaks, voice cracked and new. “Cora?” 

“Yes, yes it’s us, you've been in a coma but you're awake now, you're here.” There are fresh tears streaming down Laura’s face, as if she knows how close she was to killing him and how much of a miracle it is that he woke up. “You're here and we’re all here, oh my god. Stiles. You, you oh my god,” she says again, the weight of the situation falling heavy. He knows what she wants to say, and just places his hand on her arm briefly. 

Stiles looks down, his arms now released, and he takes Derek’s hand. “Hey there.” 

Derek squints up at him. “Hi.” 

“I knew you'd wake up,” Stiles murmurs.

“Who are you?” Derek asks, and suddenly Stiles’s entire world stops spinning. 

“Honey, don't you remember Stiles? He buys flowers from you, you two go out for lunch and talk and go to bars together. Stiles.” Laura says, her face expectant, like she's waiting for the lightbulb to go off at any minute. 

Derek has a tiny frown on his face as he shakes his head. “I'm sorry. I don't know you.” 

Stiles is empty. It's like losing Heather all over again. His head is empty, his heart is falling with the weight of his unrequited love. Did Derek not remember...anything? Was he just a hallucination in Stiles’s head? Stiles rips his hand away from Derek’s, which makes Derek’s frown deepen and he looks curiously at his palm, as if there's something wrong now that Stiles isn't holding onto it. 

“Oh.” He says. “Okay.” And he slowly backs away. He sees Scott emerge from the side of the crowd he's managed to gather, and his best friend puts a comforting hand on his back. 

“Come on, buddy. Come on.” He leads him back outside, into his mom’s minivan, and turns on the radio as he drives them back to—Stiles’s—Derek’s—the duplex. Stiles just sits in the passenger seat, wondering how this all could have ended so sadly. 

Scott—bless his confused little heart—says nothing, and Stiles is reminded why they're best friends. They both just avoided arrest and probably a few years in prison, and all Scott does is place a hand on his back while he waits for Stiles to get out of the car. He does, then leans his upper body back in. 

“Thanks for doing this, buddy.” 

Scott shrugs, a small smile on his face. “How else am I supposed to live if I don't have you calling me at 7am to help you steal bodies from hospitals?” 

He's trying, and that's all that matters. Stiles gives him a weak smile and walks into the duplex. It’s empty inside. Still full of Derek’s crap, but empty. This is the third time he's come home from a hospital to a permanently empty house, because when someone you love leaves you, they take part of you with them.

And Derek took his last piece. 

 

 

 

Two months later, Stiles receives the long-awaited letter, addressed to his new apartment a few blocks down from Derek’s duplex. The letter is an invitation, and it announces the marriage of Erica Reyes and—

“What!? Boyd’s name is Vernon Boyd III?” Stiles exclaims to his empty apartment, and his phone crackles with laughter. 

“I told you you’d be surprised!” Cora’s voice says from his phone on the table. 

Stiles laughs. “Well I am! Hey, do you want to go together?” 

“I wouldn't want anyone else as my plus one,” Cora says lightly. 

“Hey! You're _my_ plus one, missy! I'm the one who planned the wedding!” 

“And I'm a bridesmaid!” She counters. 

“We’ll call it even if you let me eat your vegan cupcake during the reception dinner.” 

He can hear Cora’s disgust. “They're having regular cupcakes too, right?” 

“You'll just have to go with me and see!” 

She snorts. “You're the most ridiculous friend I have,” she says, “but I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he croons back. 

There's silence for a moment, and Stiles knows what she's going to say before she says it. “Derek's still the best man.” 

“I figured. That's who I drew into all the plans.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Stiles sighs, sitting heavily on his kitchen table (his chairs haven't come in yet, okay?). “You don't have to apologize. It’s no one’s fault.” 

“I know. I just...you seemed so crushed, Stiles. You can't even talk about him, let alone look at him.” 

“Cora, can we...can we not? Please?” 

“Okay. I'll pick you up at 1 on Tuesday?” 

“Sounds like a plan, see you then Cora!” 

“Bye, Stiles.” 

The conversation leaves him emotionally drained, and he seeks healing through his CD player. He shuffles through the CDs before settling on one. Then he curls up on the couch, wills his eyes to dry up, and mouths along. 

_“All our times have come. Here but now they're gone.”_

_“Don't fear the reaper…”_

 

….

 

In the end, all it takes is a touch. 

The wedding is beautiful. Stiles is secretly extremely proud of how great it turned out, and he gladly takes credit for everything. The venue is a gorgeous little church with enough air conditioning to accommodate Boyd’s hundred family members and the perfect acoustics for the officiate’s words and the couple’s vows. The reception, though, is even better. Stiles is set at a table with Cora and more of the bridal party, and the food is beyond delicious (Stiles’s caterers). Boyd and Erica shove cake into each other’s mouths and everything is going flawlessly. And then Derek is told to sit at their table. 

Stiles had managed to avoid looking at him all day, but now he was right next to the man who unknowingly broke his heart, and it’s maybe a little to painful. 

Derek is painstakingly beautiful, even more so now that he’s alive and solid and breathing and pretty warm. It hurts to look at him, so Stiles determinedly keeps his eyes trained on Cora. Derek attempts conversation once, and Stiles brushes him off. Then Danny—their current DJ—calls for Erica and Boyd to do their dance, and once they've finished, he calls for all the couples to come out on the floor and dance. Stiles abruptly stands. “I'm going to grab some air,” he says, and marches himself out one of the side glass doors. It leads to a pretty little balcony, with lots of bushes and hedges and a stone bench. He sits heavily. 

Behind him, the door opens, and Derek steps out. The way the moonlight looks against his dark hair and suit make him look like a god from up above, or a mystical creature of beauty. “Hey. You okay? You seemed a bit tense in there,” Derek says. 

“I...yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for being. Well.” He replies, wincing a little. 

“It's no problem. Stiles, right? The wedding planner? You did a great job.” 

His words cut, but Stiles pretends to ignore it. “Uh, thanks. The floral arrangements look nice, as well.” 

Derek blushes. “You think so?” Stiles looks up at the bashful man and nods. 

“I do.” 

It's silent for a minute or two, and Stiles stands quickly once again. “Well I should get back.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Derek’s saying, and as Stiles begins to walk he trips over nothing, pinwheeling his arms and begging his rental suit not to need patches before Derek throws his arms out and catches the man, then promptly proceeds to drop him. 

“You know, I was going to say thank you but then that just happened and you know, I guess thanks for letting me fall closer to the ground and without as much momentum but honestly if you're going to put for the effort just do it all the way you know what I—” 

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, and the way he says his voice is different. Stiles looks up to see Derek staring wide-eyed at his hand and locks eyes with Stiles. “Stiles,” he says again. “I remember. You...me...we,” Derek seems to be at a loss for words. “You woke me up,” he settles on, wonderment in his every move and word.

“I love you.” Stiles blurts, tears blurring his vision. When his eyes clear, he sees Derek, finally, he finally sees his Derek.

Derek grabs for his hand desperately, and Stiles looks down. They're touching. They're _touching._ He looks back up to see what Derek thinks of all this.

The most beautiful smile has overcome his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a lot of you are probably like "wtf this ending is stupid as hell" but may I remind you that one of the listed fandom so is "Just Like Heaven" and this is literally what happens at the end (minus the wedding) so sit yourself back down and let me be the author. 
> 
> Anyways, I love you all so so so so much. Thank you for sticking with me, thank you for reading, and thank you so much for your endless support. This is the second "big" story I've finished writing, and I can't wait to do more. I promised myself I'd finish, and I'm so surprised that I finally have. 
> 
> You are all wonderful, I wish you luck in your future reading endeavors (ALSO THE LAST SEASON OF TEEN WOLF IS COMING UP WTF IF YOU NEED TO VENT WITH ME MESSAGE ME OR SOMETHING OR FIND ME ON IG (@bros.before.halos) BECAUSE HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT)!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on my own writing this, so if I could have some feedback i would absolutely love that! Also, Im a sucker for comments, so please leave some!  
> Much love


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